


Sunrise and the Flame

by MalTease



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalTease/pseuds/MalTease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta and Katniss' daughter finds out that she's going to be a big sister and needs reassurance from her Daddy that everything is going to be well.</p><p>Prompt: "Katniss and Peeta, how they tell people (whoever, maybe Haymitch,<br/>Katniss' mom, their first child) that Katniss is pregnant".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise and the Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kklausser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kklausser/gifts).



> Just a little fluff with a lot of Daddy!Peeta. Because he's my favourite kind of Peeta in the whole world :). Thank you to alwaysameiko for being such an amazing beta and to sponsormusings and jeeno2 for always encouraging me :).
> 
> Dear Kklausser, I don't know you, but I hope we can "meet" on Tumblr once you find out who I am :) xx

Every day, just after her evening bath and before her bedtime, my daughter insists on having me all to herself. This is the time where we read stories, play with stuffed animals, cuddle together in front of the fire and draw the pictures that adorn the walls of her bedroom. Cuddle Time, as our evening time together has been formally branded, is all about Alba enjoying my company after not seeing me for most of the day. 

But today is not a good day, and my sweet, perceptive daughter knows it. She lies quietly in my arms, tracing a scar on my forearm with her little finger as I embrace her close to me, trying to draw comfort from her smell—that perfect mix of bakery and forest that comes from both Katniss and me, but is essentially all hers. 

Today would have been my brother Barley’s birthday. This fact hit me the minute I woke up this morning, filling my day with shiny, painful stabs in my mind that made my work at the bakery almost impossible. They accompanied me home with a blinding headache, interrupted only by fleeting visions of a cruel Katniss that I struggle to remember is not real. My wife has learned to read the signs, and has kept a safe distance from me this evening. I know well enough, though, that she started a silent vigil on me and Alba the minute our daughter refused to give up her time with me before going to bed.

I huddle my sweet girl to me, willing my head to stop pounding, and for the voices to stop and the shiny images to fade. Alba sighs softly in my arms and my heart swells with love, knowing that even on days like today, when I’m distant and far away from her, she still continues to trust me unconditionally. I feel her shift slowly and I open my eyes slightly to see that Katniss has lowered herself on the couch next to the fire, looking pale as she rubs her stomach. I frown at her, torn between my concern for her and the irrational rage that I now feel towards her. 

“Have you been sick?” I ask, with perhaps more irritation than is necessary.

Alba jumps and stares at her mother in alarm. “Are you sick, Mommy?” she cries.

I understand her fear – when either Mommy or Daddy is sick, it means that she has to be quiet, that her parents either stay away from each other or need to huddle together in a room, and that she has to sleep at Aunt Delly’s house. At the same time, her high pitched voice shrills in my head and causes me to see stars. 

Katniss immediately tries to reassure her, in a soothing voice that the poison in my body still manages to distort. “No, Sunrise, I’m not sick. I’m just very tired,” she replies softly, “and keep your voice down, baby, you know Daddy has a headache.”

Alba turns to me and whispers in my ear, “I’ll go hug Mommy now,” before jumping off me and hurling herself on Katniss.

To my shame, I feel my fingers curling up into fists. I feel a surge of jealousy at Alba’s attachment to Katniss, and somewhere at the back of my mind, I hear the careless laughter of my brother. I feel alone, desperately so, and I fight hard to keep myself from running screaming out of the house. Not in front of my daughter. Never in front of her.

Katniss tries to disengage herself from Alba’s strong embrace smiling at her patiently. “Not so hard Little One, you’ll squash my tummy and then I’ll get hurt,” she chides her gently.

“Why? But why?!” Alba asks in one breath, her large eyes wide open.

Katniss looks at me, asking the question with her eyes. This is not really the ideal way to tell Alba, but we are both too tired to deal with an anxious three year old. “Yes, tell her,” I reply wearily. 

“Tell me what?” Alba squeaks, and I wince with pain, my vision blurring. 

“Well, sweetheart, you are going to be a big sister,” Katniss announces, looking at me with a tight-lipped smile, “Daddy and I and you are going to have a new baby to take care of,” she explains.

To my surprise Alba sits up and pushes away from her. “Noooo!” she cries loudly, “Take it back! I don’t _want_ it!”

Something about the way she says this brings forth a number of memories of my mother yelling at me about how she never wanted me, that I was a mistake, and that I was just an extra mouth to feed which we couldn’t afford. It could have been the searing pain in my head, or perhaps the vivid memories of the blows, or the fact that these instances from my past are not shiny and therefore not implanted in my head by the Capitol. It could have been because of any of these reasons, or because of them all, but suddenly I find myself on my feet and yelling at Alba furiously: “You silly, selfish girl! How dare you say those things? No child in my family will ever be unwanted, do you hear me?” 

My heart sinks with shame as my daughter stares at me for a second in horrified silence before her sweet face crumples in tears and Katniss scoops her in her arms. “Baby, time for bed, come on, Daddy is sick today, you know that!”

Alba wails in her arms and reaches out for me as she is carried upstairs to her room. “I’m sorry Daddy! I love you, I’m sorry!” she screams and there is nothing more that I want to do than run to her and cuddle her tears away. All I can manage at the moment however is to cling hard to the banisters. I try to fight against the blindness and the pain but all I am left with is the realisation that I was the one to break my daughter’s sweet heart for the first time in her young life. 

\---

The next morning I wake up clear from headaches, voices or shiny memories. Katniss must have sensed my change in demeanour during the night, as even though we fell asleep on opposite ends of the bed, she is now nestled in my arms as is our usual position. She responds to my stirring with her own yawn, and a concerned look in her face. 

“Are you feeling better?” she asks gently.

I nod, averting my eyes in shame. “I’m so sorry,” I reply.

She runs her hand through my hair, and I lean into her touch, feeling blissfully rested. “Don’t apologise,” she replies, “it was a difficult day, and I could see that you were in horrible pain.”

I swallow a lump in my throat when I remember of our daughter’s tears. “Alba?” I ask.

“She cried herself to sleep, but she’ll be fine,” my wife answers, trying in vain to reassure me. 

“I yelled at her,” I reply rather uselessly. “I've never scolded her before!”

Katniss grins and kisses me lightly. “That’s what shocked her the most, I think. You should stop leaving discipline exclusively to me, you know. Then maybe she wouldn't be so upset when you raise your voice at her,” she replies, not entirely joking.

She's right, as always. I smile ruefully and reluctantly make my way out of bed, but not before pulling my wife close to me one for another kiss. “Let me go check one her,” I tell her as we break away. “I want to make sure she is okay.”

To my surprise, Alba is not asleep in her bed when I open the door to her bedroom. Instead she is standing next to the door, struggling to wear her small, thick jacket over her pajamas. She starts and stretches her little arms up to me. “I want to come with you,” she whispers, her blue eyes still puffy from her sobs last night. 

I think I hear my heart crack as I crouch down next to her and brush her messy curls off her forehead. “So you still want to spend time with Daddy after he was mean to you?” I ask hoarsely.

Alba nods earnestly, her smooth cheeks stretching into a smile. “I’ll wear pink ribbons,” she announces, shyly fluttering her eye lashes at me. I dread to think of her doing the same thing to some undeserving boy in a few years time. I push that thought out of my head and grin back at her.

“Then you'll be the prettiest girl in Town,” I reply, kissing her on the cheek.

“Pretty like Mommy?” she replies, her mouth wide open in amazement.

“Prettier than Mommy,” says Katniss from behind me. “Mommy never wears pink ribbons,” she adds with a grin in my direction.

“Even though Daddy would love to see her wearing them one day,” I interject, before turning my attention back to our daughter.

“I’ll dress her, just stuff some of her toys in a bag in the meantime. You need to keep her entertained if you want to get some work done,” Katniss grins, as she leads Alba to her closet.

Our daughter releases her hand from her mother’s and comes running back to me, hugging my bad leg tightly. “Don’t forget your leg Daddy,” she murmurs in my thigh.

I swallow a lump and ruffle her curls lovingly. “As long as you keep on hugging it so tight, I won’t be forgetting my leg anywhere, Little Sunrise,” I reply, my voice breaking a little. 

Katniss looks at us both tenderly. “It’s going to be a sensitive day,” I tell her as I choose her favourite toys to take with us. 

\---

It did turn out to be a rather sensitive day, as my daughter kept following me like a silent shadow in the bakery, her tiny hand gripped tightly to my apron, alternating between the questions “But Daddy do you still love me?” and “But Daddy are you suuuure?”. 

At the fourth “But Daddy do you still love me?” and after nearly dropping a tray of hot pies on her, I gather her up in my arms and sit her down on the counter before leaning towards her. 

“Sunrise, Daddy can’t make bread and feed people with you walking around next to the ovens!” I tell her.

“No?” she asks in real surprise.

“Not really. And Daddy will always love you. Always. You don’t need to keep asking,” I explain seriously.

“Are you suuure?” she whispers.

“Quite sure, Applepie. Even when I scold you, because that’s what Mommies and Daddies do. They take love their little girls, take care of them, and scold them when they are naughty,” I say tickling her gently in her tummy. 

She squirms and looks down, seemingly unconvinced, so I rummage in my bag for her two favourite stuffed animals and hold them up to her. “Would you like to hug Mr. Lamb or Mr. Wabbit?” I ask her.

“Both Daddy,” she replies sadly.

I frown slightly. Resorting to the comfort of both Mr Lamb and Mr Wabbit is a big deal, and happens very rarely. My little one must be miserable. I hand her the stuffed toys and gently run my thumb over her soft cheek. 

“Will you tell me why you’re sad?” I ask gently. Silence. “Would you like to tell your toys?’ I ask again. 

“Already told them,” she murmurs.

“When?”

“This morning, in my beddie.”

I take Alba’s answer to confirm that she’s still upset about what happened yesterday. “Is it because of the new baby?” I ask, trying to catch her eye.

She shakes her head stubbornly and whispers “no”, but by now I can read her open face like a book.

“I know a sweet little girl called Sunrise, and her ears turn bright red when she lies to her Mommy and Daddy,” I reply, brushing her curls from her ears, who have now turned scarlet. 

Her lower lip trembles and she bursts into tears, clutching her stuffed lamb and rabbit close to her. “Are you scared for when the baby comes? Are you scared that Mommy and I won’t love you anymore?” I ask her softly.

She’s wailing before I even finish the sentence and I know that I have hit the nail right in the head. I hug her tight to me and murmur comforting words until she calms down.

“We will love you, little one. You will always be our Sunrise,” I tell her as I stroke her hair, “don’t ever think otherwise, honey.”

Her sobs turn to sniffles and her nose starts to run. “Here, blow your little nose,” I coax, covering her nose with a paper napkin, “Mommy will be upset if we go home with red eyes, and you don’t want to make her sad, do you?”

She shakes her head and swallows her tears. “No, Daddy.”

“You’re going to be a big sister now, you’re going to help me and Mommy with the baby, and you will teach him or her all the exciting things you know. It will be great fun!” I tell her, trying to muster in her some enthusiasm.

She looks at me sceptically, and I try another approach. “You remember the time before you made friends with Mr. Wabbit? When it was only you and Mr. Lamb?” She nods and brightens up like she often does when her stuffed animals are mentioned. “Well I’m sure Mr. Lamb was scared that you wouldn’t love him when Mr. Wabbit arrived, and he was wrong wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was!” she cries and hugs the lamb tightly. “I love you Mr. Lamb,” she tells her toy softly. As I look at her, I wonder how she could possibly imagine a world in which I don’t love her. 

“You see? You’re our little lamb. When your brother or sister arrives, we will love you both,” I finish with a peck on her nose. 

Alba giggles, finally convinced. “Babies are cute,” she admits somewhat grudgingly.

“So are little girls with their pink ribbons,” I reply with a wink as I hear a customer enter the bakery. Reluctantly, I have to turn my attention from her, but I keep a watchful eye on her all the time, making sure to spend every free moment lavishing her with attention. 

\---

Later that afternoon, I carry Alba back home, not because the trip is particularly tiring for her, but because it’s the kind of day where I can deny her nothing. She sings to herself on the way, her fingers playing with an errant curl at the back of my head, the same one which seems to provide the same kind of comfort also to her mother. I can’t help but smile. The girls of my life seem to share the same fascination with my hair.

That night, Alba cuddles against her mother, making up for not having seen her for almost a whole day. Her hand strokes Katniss’ stomach gently, before placing her ear to it and shushing us sternly. “I can’t hear the baby,” she complains with her mother’s scowl.

“Baby’s too tiny to make any noise,” Katniss explains sleepily as she herself snuggles closer to me. I kiss her gently, trying to make up for my shameful treatment of her yesterday.

“Mommy, how did Baby get in your tummy?”

I raise my eyebrows quizzically and grin at Katniss. “Yes, Mommy, how did Baby get in your tummy?” I repeat grinning widely.

“Sunrise, it was Daddy who put it there,” she replies, giving me a mock-glare.

“How?”

“With a lot of love, honey.”

“But how?”

I calmly rest my feet on the coffee table and stretch my arms along the back of the couch. “All yours, love,” I grin, “I will deal with this topic in a few years if the baby is a boy.”

She clears her throat and thinks for a minute. “Well, it was a cold night some weeks ago, and Daddy and I were hugging. Hugging really tight,” she explains gently, “and then he kissed me with a lot and a lot of love and in a very special way, and that’s how he put Baby in my tummy.”

Alba gapes at her. “And that is how I came too?” she asks.

“Yes honey,” I reply a bit wistfully. Of course, the actual details are a bit different, but the way Katniss explained conception seems pretty wonderful too.

\---

Our son is born six months later on a late Spring evening, grey eyed and fair haired, and with a healthy pair of lungs with which he decides to announce his birth. I carry Alba to our bed where she stares at Katniss, who is holding our newborn in her arms. “This is your little brother,” I announce, in a whisper, still slightly in awe.

Katniss smiles and reaches out for her, wincing slightly when Alba hugs her tight. “Gently, Sunrise,” I warn, “Mommy is a little sore.”

She loosens her grip and stares at the baby, before bursting into giggles. “His mouth is wide open,” she cries, “just like Daddy!” and Katniss bursts out laughing. 

“Yes, look at you, all overwhelmed, aren’t you?” she whispers to our son, who is locked in a gaping session with me, as we stare at each other in astonishment. 

“What is his name Mommy?” asks Alba suddenly.

Katniss and I share a look. “You name this one,” I tell her. Alba had been my choice after all.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Aidan. It means flame,” she answers.

I nod my head and offer my index finger to my son, who wraps his hand round it greedily. “Do you like your name, Littlest One?” I ask him. He yawns and turns instinctively to his mother’s breast, and I take that to be a yes.

I pick up our daughter and kiss Katniss, promising to come back as soon as Alba is settled in bed. “Okay, big sister, would you like some Cuddle Time while your Mommy gives Aidan his milk?” I ask her.

“Yesss!”

“Good, say bye and good night!”

“Goodnight Mommy! Goodnight Aidan!”

Katniss blows her a kiss and starts nursing Aidan, but not before Alba catches a glimpse of the process and stares at me wide eyed. “Mommy has milk – there??”

I smile at her . “Yes, sweetie, she does!”

“But Daddy … that’s like cows!”

I laugh hard, easing the tension of the labour, and I find myself filled with unprecedented happiness. My life is truly complete now, and I plan to savour every moment with my wife, my sunrise, and my flame.


End file.
